


Obligāre

by sweetestsorrows (katschako)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Forced Marriage, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Idiots in Love, Mild Smut, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Hermione Granger, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Soul Bond, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:20:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29380542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katschako/pseuds/sweetestsorrows
Summary: obligō (present infinitive: obligāre)1. to bind2. to obligeDespite months of research after the war ends, Hermione cannot find a diagnosis or an explanation for the persistent illness that ails her. She's all but resigned herself to a life of chronic pain and malaise when the answer to her problems is provided by the most unexpected of sources. The solution isn't one that she likes and it will assuredly set her life on a course far from what she ever imagined. Still, there isn't much she can do other than to make the best of the situation, even if it means learning to cooperate with her former enemy.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 17
Kudos: 263
Collections: Box of Chocolates





	Obligāre

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Box_of_Chocolates](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Box_of_Chocolates) collection. 



> Prompt — Arranged and/or Marriage Law, Jewellery
> 
> Find the artist, AnnaV, on [Instagram](instagram.com/annavek94.art) or [Tumblr](https://annavek94.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> A huge thanks to [Lady Kenz](https://ladykenz347.tumblr.com/) and [Kyonomiko](https://kyonomiko.tumblr.com/) for hosting this event.
> 
> Alpha and beta (and all of my) love for [Sunny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/besmirchedmaiden/pseuds/besmirchedmaiden).

  


###  _February 14, 2000_

The bedroom door opened silently, but Hermione sensed him from the moment he crossed the threshold. Plush carpet muffled her husband’s footsteps as he walked across the room, only stopping once he was behind her.

Looking up, Hermione was met by a pair of molten grey eyes studying her intently in the vanity mirror. His gaze travelled across the sparkling diamonds that adorned her neck and collarbone. A delicate web of bright jewels also draped her curls, which were tame for once.

The appearance was far from her normal, casual attire, and in truth, she felt ridiculous. Hermione tried to protest that the ensemble was overly opulent, when Narcissa first sent it over. However, Hermione should have known better than to try and argue with her mother-in-law. Narcissa was nearly impossible to sway once she set her mind to something.

Ultimately, it was easier to just trust the woman, who had far more experience in societal events than Hermione could ever hope to possess. Considering this would be her first public appearance as the younger Mrs Malfoy, Hermione understood that it was important for her to look her best. 

When the news initially broke that she and Draco were engaged, it took the wizarding world by storm. Many angry letters were sent to both of them. Hermione was apparently an opportunistic whore, with no sense of morals. Draco was _obviously_ a Death Eater scum who must have cast an Imperius curse on her. 

Though, to be fair, it wasn’t just enraged citizens who made their opinions on her private life known. Many also found the entire development romantic. The relationship was over-idealised as a classic tale of star-crossed lovers, who found their way to one another against all odds. 

However, neither of the conjectures on her life could be further from the truth.

Few aside from her closest friends knew that the entire relationship was no more than a forced arrangement. Hermione refused to air her personal affairs, especially on such a sensitive matter.

All she wanted to do was focus on making the best out of unfortunate circumstances. However, Hermione was also unwilling to marry Draco the moment they graduated, as was the custom for most purebloods.

She had found an unexpected ally in her former tormentor, as Draco easily agreed to a timeline with which she felt comfortable.

The public statement of their intent to marry in June of the previous year, shortly after the spring term ended. Six months later, she and Draco completed the bonding ritual in an intimate ceremony at one of the French Malfoy estates.

Their engagement _was_ brief, all things considered, and a topic of wide speculation. Rita was the most vocal in attempting to uncover a scandal. Hermione couldn’t wait until the summer months revealed that she was not heavy with the next Malfoy heir, as Rita so delicately put it in one of the many articles she wrote covering the relationship.

The way in which the wizarding population felt entitled to comment on her private life was appalling, but Hermione found herself growing hardened against public opinion. As a woman, and a Muggle-born one at that, Hermione was well aware that she would never be a beloved hero like Harry, or the stalwart sidekick like Ron. No, she was constantly critiqued and judged for the way she spoke, how she carried herself, the clothes she wore…

The list of things she needed to do ‘right’ went on and on.

That was one of the reasons why she had accepted Narcissa’s help in dressing for this particular event. 

Following their wedding, she and Draco had spent the remainder of the year and the start of the new decade abroad. Despite the circumstances, she found the experience to be a pleasant one. The Malfoy vaults were seemingly endless, and Draco spared no expense in ensuring they travelled in the lap of luxury.

It was another way of apologising for everything in their past, one that Hermione was happy to accept.

They had only arrived back in the country several days before, and the reality of their situation immediately came crashing down. For all intents and purposes, Hermione was now a society wife. She planned to explore several career options, all of which Draco was supportive.

Still, certain duties were now required of her.

One of the expectations was attending events with Draco, even when said event was a gala celebrating the engagement of her husband’s former betrothed.

It was impossible not to feel intimidated by the prospect of formally meeting Astoria Greengrass, who was ridiculously beautiful without a single observable flaw. Beyond that, Hermione was certain that Astoria was everything a pureblood wife should be.

“I can hear you thinking,” Draco said.

The low timbre of his voice drew her out of the anxiety-driven whirlwind that her thoughts were quickly spiralling into. Long fingers danced across her hips and tugged at the tie holding the front of her white dress in place, revealing the trickle of diamonds that wove into an intricate pattern across her shoulders and breasts.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror.

Hermione shook her head. 

She didn’t want him to know she was jealous of the woman he was intended to marry. _Their_ marriage was so new and fragile. Barely a year and a half had passed since they fought on opposite sides of the war. Besides, in spite of how they came together, Draco had never given her any reason to suspect his faithfulness. There was no use bringing it up.

“You look beautiful. I just have one suggestion, if I may,” he said. 

His warm breath tickled her ear and caused her to shiver. Hermione leaned back into him instinctively as his arm wound around her shoulder. It was hard to reconcile the platinum wedding band he wore with the fact that he was married _to her_. 

Even after months of being wed, it still came as a shock at times.

“What is it?” she asked, more breathlessly than she intended.

“Let’s make this one green.” With his wand, he tapped the diamond that rested at the center of her chest. “Consider it my wedding present.”

“I thought your present was that thing we did on the private beach in the Maldives.”

Hermione watched as Draco’s eyes darkened at the memory.

It was a relief to discover that the intense hatred they bore for one another as children and teenagers translated into passionate sex in adulthood.

The first time they came together was amidst an argument, as an animated debate devolved into a fiery clash. Before she knew it, Draco had her skirt rucked up around her waist and her knickers pushed to the side as he pounded into her in a tucked away alcove. One hand covered her mouth, lest one of the other occupants of the castle stumble upon them, while the other hand slid around her hip and down the front of her knickers.

It was the best sex Hermione had experienced up until that point. 

Of course, she didn’t have many prior experiences to compare it to. Yet, after further couplings, Hermione felt confident in the belief that her husband had a rather nice cock and knew exactly how to use it. It also helped that he was talented and incredibly enthusiastic with his tongue, and his fingers.

Honestly, if Hermione was forced to marry _someone_ , at least she ended up with a man who was a generous lover. She might not have liked him very much for most of their acquaintance, but she couldn’t deny that he was skilled in making her fall apart.

Now that she thought about it, perhaps she could coax Draco into a quick romp before the party. Nothing quite relaxed her like a toe-curling orgasm. Her nerves were frazzled from the stress of attending the event, and really, he owed it to her to help release some of the tension. Slipping his wand from his grip, Hermione tapped the shimmering stone again and the colour shifted to ruby red.

“This suits better, don’t you think?” she asked with a smug smirk.

With a growl, he turned her to face him as his lips crashed to hers.

The kiss was demanding and consuming.

Despite the fire that raged between them, he was methodical in the way he devoured her. His fingers inevitably curled around her jaw and neck as he held her precisely where he wanted her. His other hand traced around the jewels that were scattered across her chest, as he teased and pushed her closer to the brink of insanity. 

Maybe Hermione should have anticipated it, considering it the strong feelings that wove through the fabric of their history. Whether it was fierce anger or fervent desire, Draco had always elicited a heady, wild fire that raged within her.

Kissing him was wildly addicting and it never failed to fill her with a ravenous sort of hunger, one that Draco was all too happy to satiate time and time again.

His mouth broke away from hers as his hands gripped her thighs to lift her onto the edge of the vanity. Before he could pull away, Hermione locked her ankles just below his arse to hold him in place.

She deepened the kiss once more, nipping at his plump bottom lip before sliding her tongue across it. The thick, desperate groan that erupted from Draco caused the ache in her core to grow exponentially. Tightening her legs around him, Hermione pressed herself to him.

She shifted her hips against him to release some of the throbbing pressure, too far gone to even care about the needy keen that spilt from her lips.

“Gods, Granger, you’re absolutely insatiable,” he murmured.

With a reproachful glare, she pulled away. “Don’t act as if you’re any better, Malfoy.”

Draco chased after her mouth with a laugh and captured her lips once more.

“I never said I was. I’m just better at hiding it.”

He drew her hand into his and pressed a kiss to her palm, then the tips of her fingers. When she slipped a finger past his lips, he dragged his tongue across it and nipped the flesh gently.

Hermione watched with wide eyes and flushed cheeks as Draco kissed her wrist before placing her arm over his shoulder.

His fingers slid under the hem of her dress and dug into her hips as Draco leaned in.

“If I could have you naked in bed, every moment of every day, I absolutely would.”

“What about sustenance? And using the loo?”

“House-elves for food, though I’m not sure they’ve forgiven you for freeing them, so you may be on your own for that.”

Draco muffled her squeak of protest at the insinuation as he kissed her again. He traced slow patterns on her thighs to match the ministrations of his tongue against hers.

“I think I’ll amend my original statement to include the bath and shower,” he added after another pause. “There are few things as satisfying as watching rivulets of water trickle between your tits as I fuck you against the wall.”

His filthy words only fueled the heat that was steadily building between her legs.

“I think– I think that you’re all talk, Malfoy,” she said. “I’m practically begging for you to fuck me, and you still won’t give me what I want.”

“Practically begging and actually begging aren’t the same thing, you know.”

Hermione huffed in annoyance. “Semantics.”

“Hardly, princess. Has there ever been a time since we married when you’ve _actually_ asked for something and I’ve denied you?”

Her mouth twisted into a petulant moue. 

“I hate when you call me that.”

He flashed her a smug, infuriating grin as he unwound her legs from around his hips and took a single step back.

“Why? You’re the _Gryffindor Princess_.” His smirk widened. “I’m only calling you by your proper title, my lady.”

“You’re so annoying,” she huffed. “For starters, no one ever even called me that—”

“Not to your face they didn’t,” he whispered, loudly enough for her to hear.

“ _Furthermore_ , we’ve been out of school for almost an entire year now!”

“What can I say? Some habits are hard to break. Now, stop evading the question.”

Hermione really wanted to throttle him. Crossing her arms beneath her breasts and delighting in the way his gaze followed the movement, she released a sulky sigh.

“You’ve always given me everything I’ve asked for.”

His grin grew almost feral as he stalked back towards her and slotted himself between her legs, pulling her body flush against his.

“Exactly. So, what is it you want, Hermione?”

The way her name rolled off his tongue so smoothly made her heart flutter.

“I want—”

Her request was cut short as Draco dropped his head to caress the bare patches of skin on her chest with his lips and tongue.

“Go on, then. Tell me.”

Fingers found their way to the gusset of her knickers and Draco growled low in approval at the wet silk he was met with.

“Draco, _please._ ”

“It sounds so pretty when you say it like that.”

Hermione’s head fell back as he slipped a finger along her folds and whimpered when it became clear that he was only going to continue teasing.

“I need you.”

“Where do you need me?”

“Between my legs.”

“Is it my fingers you want? Or maybe my tongue?”

Draco watched her intently from beneath hooded lids, his eyes so dark, the ring of grey was hardly visible. When he pulled his lip between his teeth, Hermione almost fell to her knees in supplication.

_Almost_.

“I want your cock, you insufferable prat,” she bit out instead.

Tugging at his trousers, she slid her hand along his erection and squeezed it for emphasis.

“You’ll be the death of me, witch,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll fuck you, but on one condition.”

Hermione was going to murder him if he didn’t stop torturing her soon. He must have seen violent intent in her eyes, as he dipped two fingers into her. Draco curled them just the way she liked, his palm creating a delicious friction against her.

“This is all you’ll get, unless you change that jewel back to green.”

“Oh, for the love of Morgan—”

Her rebuke disintegrated into a low moan of pleasure as Draco increased the pressure and sent her plummeting over the edge. He crushed his lips to hers and held her tightly through it all. It wasn’t until the final aftershocks abated that he shifted away.

“Well? What’ll it be?”

With an irritated grumble, Hermione reached for her wand and tapped the gem.

###  _December 22, 1998_

Hermione walked slowly through the empty hallways of Hogwarts, nose buried in a book. While the new school year was going better than anticipated, she found herself grateful for the peace that settled through the old castle in the absence of its usual volume of inhabitants.

Although most of her fellow students already returned home for the winter holidays, she wouldn’t leave for another day. If it were up to her, Hermione might have chosen to stay and study for the exams through the break, but there were people that needed her. A Mind Healer might have encouraged her to focus on herself and prioritise her own needs.

Yet, after seven years of sacrificing her own wellbeing for Harry and the Order, old habits were hard to break.

Absentmindedly, her hand flitted up to her chest and rubbed a slow, concentric pattern across her sternum, even as her eyes never left the page. Pain had long since become part of her daily routine, but after nine months of living with a general malaise, Hermione hardly noticed it on most days. 

At first, she assumed that she was still suffering from the aftereffects of her prolonged subjection to the Cruciatus curse. The discomfort began after her encounter with Bellatrix earlier in the year. While she couldn’t remember all the events that transpired on the floor of the drawing-room, Hermione came to understand that she was subjected to extended torture at the hand of the mad witch.

It didn’t help that the two months after brought the most stress Hermione ever experienced, up until the point Harry defeated Voldemort. Breaking into Gringotts, preparing for the inevitable battle, and hunting for the final Horcruxes were hardly conducive to good health.

After Harry emerged victorious, the remainder of the summer was spent mourning their dead and rebuilding the wizarding community. When the pain radiating through her body had not abated by the time she was scheduled to return to Hogwarts, Hermione knew it was time to seek medical care.

The Healers chalked it up to the curse, but Hermione wasn’t so sure. She did her own readings on the theory and known cases. The conclusion she found was that there shouldn’t be _this_ much discomfort.

Enough time had passed since that horrible day at Malfoy Manor that her body should have healed for the most part. If anything, the only lasting side effects should have been mental ones, but there were no cognitive symptoms that she had noticed.

Instead, she lived in a near-constant state of pain and exhaustion.

Hermione felt tired all the time, despite maintaining a strict sleep schedule. She slept through the night, too, blissfully unaffected by nightmares that seemed to affect so many of the others. Regardless, she still felt drained from the moment she woke. 

Unfortunately, nothing could explain her strange, persistent illness.

After the Healers failed to provide her answers, she consulted with Curse-Breakers. Their scans didn’t reveal anything sinister at work in her body.

Desperate to cover all her bases Hermione turned to Muggle doctors, in hopes that science might find something that magic overlooked. Aside from still being slightly underweight, she received a clean bill of health. There was no physical explanation for why she felt the way she did.

So, Hermione learned to live with it. She practised Muggle techniques for relaxation, and used potions sparingly. It was a bit of a nuisance, but it could be worse. No one escaped the war unscathed. Many lost their lives. 

It was impossible to sit in classes without thinking of her brave former classmates who would never be afforded the future she was gifted. There were times when the guilt of surviving threatened to drown her.

Hermione knew that Harry didn’t return because of it. He didn’t think he deserved one more year of education, as if nothing had happened, when there were still Dark wizards on the loose. He threw himself headfirst into becoming an Auror and rounding up the remaining Death Eaters.

Ron followed Harry into law enforcement without a second thought.

When the boys told her of their plan, Hermione was unsurprised. She couldn’t even muster the energy to be bothered that Ron seemingly chose Harry over her. Despite the spontaneous, possibly ill-advised kiss they shared in the Chamber of Secrets during the final battle, the transition from friends to lovers wasn’t fated to happen between her and Ron. That suited Hermione just fine.

There were too many other things she needed to focus on, and a relationship would only distract from her academic and career goals. She valued Ron’s friendship, and knew in her heart that they wouldn’t work in a romantic sense.

While it was undeniably lonely to return to school without her two best friends, Hermione hardly had time to think about their absence. Instead, she immersed herself fully into her studies and duties as Head Girl. The honour of being elected for the position of authority was one that Hermione took very seriously.

It was the reason she remained at the castle after the holiday began, as there were a few final obligatory matters to address. Hermione volunteered to stay behind since the Head Boy, Anthony, had a family to return to.

Her parents were still in Australia, blissfully unaware of their only daughter. The experts that Hermione spoke to over summer all concluded the same thing. The Obliviate she performed was irreversible and any attempts could cause irreparable damage to their minds. 

She couldn’t have predicted it. In all her youthful hubris, Hermione never imagined she would find herself an orphan with two living parents.

In the aftermath of her devastating loss, she found comfort in the unlikeliest of places.

Andromeda, still reeling with the loss of half her family, was kind in offering Hermione a place to stay. Hermione could have always stayed with Harry and Ron. Yet, after nearly a year of living in cramped accommodations with two teenage boys, the prospect of rooming with them at Grimmauld was hardly appealing.

Further, both Harry and Ron were busy with the intensive training of the Auror programme, and Hermione found the busyness of the city too overwhelming for her liking. 

It all worked out well in the end, as she and Andromeda grieved together. In return, Hermione helped the older witch with baby Teddy, and spent the end of the season living in quiet, domestic bliss. 

Given how the year started, it was more than Hermione could ever ask for.

Hermione looked up with a start as a wispy cat trotted down the hallway towards her and interrupted her brooding. 

Her presence was required in the Headmistress’s tower, but she didn’t have the faintest idea what the professor might need. She and Anthony had met with Minerva earlier in the week, and final Head duties for the term were discussed at that time. 

Yet, ever the diligent student, Hermione quickly closed her book with a thud and scurried to respond to the unexpected summons. Whatever ideas might have crossed her mind as she travelled across the castle did not prepare Hermione for the strange gathering that greeted her when she stepped into the office. Her initial reaction was fear at seeing the familiar silhouette of Andromeda, seated across from Minerva. 

Could something have happened to Teddy, or perhaps Harry? Logic quickly nixed the second option. If Harry was in trouble, Ron would have come to get her. That didn’t rule out an accident befalling Teddy, though. 

As her mind began to race with possibilities, Hermione nearly missed the other occupant of the room. Movement in her peripheral vision drew her attention to the witch seated beside Andromeda. Hermione blinked once, then twice, as she struggled to reconcile the sight before her. 

It couldn’t _actually_ be Narcissa Malfoy occupying the seat. However, there was no other explanation, unless Hermione was experiencing a lucid, bizarre dream. The bright blonde hair and aristocratic posture were unmistakable.

“Ah, Miss Granger!” Minerva said, as every eye in the office turned towards her. “Thank you for joining us.”

Andromeda smiled at seeing Hermione, and Narcissa offered a nearly imperceptible head nod in acknowledgement.

“Professor?” Hermione internally cursed the way her nervousness turned what should have been a greeting into a question. She coughed and cleared her throat, steadying her voice in the process. “Hello, Andromeda, and Mrs Malfoy.”

“Thank you for your promptness in joining us,” Minerva said.

“Of course, Professor,” Hermione responded easily. “What is this in regards to?”

A look of unease crossed the older witch’s features momentarily, causing Hermione’s heart to pound in her chest. It took a lot to unsettle Minerva, and any anxiety on her part did not bode well for Hermione.

“I’ll let these two explain it. It’s far too personal a matter for the Headmistress to be involved in. Please excuse me, Miss Granger,” Minerva said with a curt nod to the other two women.

Seats were rearranged in an uncomfortable silence as the three witches triangulated themselves so that Hermione and Narcissa faced one another and Andromeda sat looking toward them both.

“There isn’t an easy way to say this, Miss Granger, so I hope you’ll forgive my bluntness,” Narcissa began.

The pinched expression on the woman’s face did nothing to settle Hermione’s nerves. Still, she did her best to school her features into a neutral mask even as her pulse raced and her stomach twisted into knots.

“You’ve been cursed—” Narcissa said.

Try as she might, Hermione couldn’t suppress a scoff filled with incredulity and cynicism.

“Of course, I have. You were there, watching while it happened in your drawing room.”

“Hermione—” Andromeda placed a gentle hand on her arm.

At least Narcissa had the decency to look ashamed.

“Bellatrix was always unstable, and her time in Azkaban only served to push her further into madness. I’m sorry I didn’t do more to stop her,” Narcissa murmured. “I was selfish and worried that if I intervened, she would punish me by torturing Draco instead.”

Her tone was heavy with remorse, but it didn’t stop Hermione from crossing her arms and glaring at the other witch. It was all good and well that Narcissa wanted to protect her son.

Hermione knew that her own mother would go to the ends of the earth to keep her safe. 

At least, Helen Granger would have, before she became Monica Wilkins.

The pang in her chest intensified, but this time it was unclear whether the ache she felt was caused by whatever unnamed ailment plagued her, or the intense grief of losing her mother.

In truth, it was probably for the best that Narcissa was so singularly focused on keeping her son safe. If it hadn’t been for her willingness to ensure his well-being above all else, they might all be living under Voldemort’s rule. 

Narcissa had single-handedly decided the outcome of the war, all due to a mother’s love.

Still, it was hard for Hermione to feel any sympathy or ignore the mistrust she felt towards the woman. The Malfoys were infamous opportunists, and despite their limited interactions, Hermione suspected that Narcissa was even savvier than her husband or son.

Hermione continued to scowl as she waited for Narcissa to continue.

“Regardless of my regrets, I didn’t come to recount the awful torture you suffered at my sister’s hands. Rather, I have the unenviable task of informing you of another pain Bellatrix inflicted on you, and in turn to ask a favour of you.”

That piqued Hermione’s curiosity and despite herself, she leaned forward. Narcissa must have been desperate, as it was unimaginable that Narcissa might ask anything of her unless the situation was dire.

For a moment, Hermione wondered whether it had anything to do with Draco, though how could it not?

Narcissa would do whatever was needed for Draco.

He had also returned for the Eighth Year, a stipulation of the sentencing he received. All things considered, Draco was given a rather light punishment.

Officially, it was due to his status as a minor at the time of his joining the Death Eaters. However, it also helped that Harry testified of his reluctance that night in the Astronomy Tower, and Ron asserted that Draco refused to identify the trio when they were brought to the Manor. 

Hermione planned to testify on his behalf also, on principle alone. She didn’t like him, and she maintained a healthy level of unease around her former bully. Yet, it was clear Draco had no choice in the events surrounding his induction to the Death Eaters.

He deserved another chance, if he was willing to take it. 

Despite her good intentions, Hermione never made it to the Wizengamot. The pain was especially bad that day, so much so that she couldn’t even get out of bed. It didn’t abate until she saw Harry later that day, when he came to tell the outcome of the trial. 

Since the start of the school year, she had hardly spoken to Draco at all. The special class of Eighth Year students had a wing set apart in the castle, but he was always in the periphery. He hadn’t said anything cruel to her or given any indication of contempt. 

In fact, any time she was remotely in the vicinity, he seemed to withdraw further into himself. At first, she thought it was just coincidental...

A muted cough startled Hermione from her musing. Glancing up, she realised Narcissa was waiting for her to speak. The woman was watching her warily.

“You said it was a curse?” Hermione asked.

“In a sense. The spell itself is Light magic, but Bellatrix warped it to suit her needs. It wasn’t intended to be used in the manner my sister did, so it wouldn’t register if a Curse-Breaker performed a diagnostic exam.”

Well, that assuaged Hermione’s immediate suspicions as to why the Curse-Breakers she consulted hadn’t found anything. Even an ancient, rare curse should have shown up on the scans. However, if it was a harmless spell that Bellatrix used for nefarious purposes, Narcissa’s explanation seemed logical.

“I’ve spoken about it with Andromeda and she's in agreement, which is why she’s here. I figured you would be more likely to believe it from a trusted source, rather than… Well, I won’t make any presumptions of being trustworthy in your eyes,” Narcissa said.

A stiff dip of her chin was the only response Hermione could muster.

“You lost consciousness at one point, that day in the Manor. It was long enough for Bellatrix to turn her attention away from you for just a moment, but that was all it took. She noticed how distressed Draco was, and she attacked his mind. He normally would have been able to Occlude and stave her off, but he was too distracted helping you.”

None of it made sense. Hermione stared in horror as Narcissa exhaled a slow, shaky breath.

“What she found only further cemented her belief that the Malfoy line was weak. I know you may find this hard to believe, but Draco harboured a fascination with you for some time. Every letter he wrote to me since First Year featured you in some way, though it was often in the form of a complaint. You have to understand that my son was unaccustomed to not being the best, and you entirely shifted his entire worldview—”

“Why would he risk everything to help a Mudblood?” Hermione blurted.

A warped inkling of satisfaction spread through Hermione when Narcissa flinched at the slur.

“I don’t believe Draco ever held strong convictions about blood purity. He only wanted Lucius’ approval, but when he was forced to join that madman, he became even more unsure of everything Lucius taught him,” Narcissa responded. “I won’t deny my complicity. I should have intervened far sooner. I won’t bore you with my many failures, though. The point is, when Bellatrix realised that he was protecting your mind, she condemned you both.”

Hermione felt faint. “How?”

“She bound your souls to one another, as a twisted sort of mockery of the pureblood ways. When marriages are arranged, families sometimes elect to initiate a soul binding. It was a form of added security in the contract, but it also fostered the magical connection between the intended pair.”

When she hazarded a glance at Andromeda, Hermione only saw solemn resignation. 

“I imagine Bellatrix intended to put Draco in a hopeless situation. By her logic, he wouldn’t be able to obtain our approval to marry you, and even if he did, the Malfoy line would no longer be pure. Yet, on the other hand, if he chose to stay away from you, he would never find happiness with another. In that case, both of you would live in pain for the rest of your days.”

Another sharp, burning sensation in her chest reminded Hermione of her own discomfort, and it was impossible not to flinch as the ache radiated throughout her body.

“You’ve been suffering as well, I take it,” Narcissa said.

“It’s as I feared. When Narcissa wrote to me regarding the situation, we both hoped that Bellatrix had not been able to complete the spell,” Andromeda explained. “If the spell was cast solely on Draco, there was a chance we might be able to counteract it. But I remembered you complaining of unexplained physical ailments…”

“Why hasn’t Malf– Draco spoken to me about this?” Hermione asked.

“My son is no longer the entitled young wizard you once went to school with,” Narcissa said.

Of course, Hermione had noticed the changes, but she wasn’t about to say it aloud.

Ever since returning Draco had been withdrawn and quiet, at least on the few occasions Hermione happened to share space with him. He might have been doing his best to avoid her, but they still shared classes.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Hermione pressed.

“He doesn’t want you to feel obligated to him, Miss Granger.”

“I’m already obligated, and I deserved to know!” Hermione exclaimed. “I’ve been miserable for months!”

“That’s why I’m here having this conversation with you—”

“Please. You can’t expect me to believe you’re here for _my_ benefit,” Hermione said with an incredulous scoff. “You’re just trying to help your son because he’s incredibly stubborn, and refuses to do so himself.”

“I can’t deny that I’m invested in seeing him well again. He’s suffered enough, and I’ve done little to prevent it. This arrangement was rather unexpected, but the spell wouldn’t have taken if your magics weren’t compatible—”

“That’s enough,” Hermione interjected. “I’ve heard enough.”

Her mind was reeling, her head was pounding, and Hermione thought she was going to be sick. With a murmured farewell and apology to Andromeda, she made her excuses and fled.

It wasn’t until she was back in her dormitory that Hermione realised that she didn’t even know the name of the spell. In a moment of impulsivity, she wrote a quick note to Draco, informing him that they needed to talk. He wasn't her first choice for anything, really, but Hermione was tired of the secrecy, tired of feeling ill.

The walk to the school Owelry did wonders for getting her. As the biting wind lashed mercilessly against her cheeks, Hermione finally felt reprieve from the crushing, racing thoughts that plagued her ever since the conversation earlier in the day. 

Before she could second-guess herself, she tied the letter to a large barn owl, and began the cold trek back to her dormitory.

He didn’t respond until days later, when she was already settled into her room in Andromeda’s cosy cottage. Begrudgingly, Hermione admired his neat penmanship. She was also reluctant to admit that the letter was worth the agonising wait.

Several lengths of parchment contained apologies for every slight against her since the beginning of their acquaintance. His role in the war and ways he had hurt her, even indirectly, spanned multiple paragraphs alone.

Draco also included notes on all the research he had done on the spell Bellatrix cast on them, _Obligo_. He shared the etymology and definition of the word itself, correctly guessing that Hermione would be interested.

His remorse at causing her further pain was evident as he regrettably explained that from what he could tell from his preliminary research, the bond could not be broken.

Surprisingly, Draco wasn’t offended when Hermione responded with a curt, brief letter that she would be confirming everything he delineated and would continue expanding on the findings he already came to. He even offered to send tomes from the family library to aid in her investigation. 

Hermione had heard tales of the fabled collection of books that Malfoy Manor boasted. It was a shame she couldn’t see it for herself, but even if Draco were agreeable to hosting her in his home, it was far too soon.

She survived the war mentally unscathed, for the most part, but Hermione wasn’t willing to test her luck. Agreeing to his suggestion, Hermione spent the remainder of the winter holiday reading and re-reading every book he sent. She wrote to specialists throughout the larger wizarding world on the topic of soul bonds. Every avenue she explored led her to the same conclusion.

The Obligo spell was one that existed for centuries, possibly developed shortly after the magical community first came into being. Primordial enchantments were all but impossible to counteract. Essentially, Hermione was unwittingly and unwillingly contracted into an unbreakable arranged marriage.

All that was left to do was discuss the situation with Draco.

They had corresponded via owl throughout her research, and Hermione found herself pleasantly surprised that he really _was_ different. It was almost easy to forget that the wizard she wrote to – the one who served as a sounding board and offered helpful suggestions – was the same boy she had known _and hated_ for years.

Regrettably, the ease with which they communicated via the written word didn’t translate to _actual_ interactions when they returned to school.

Draco was as awkward and uncomfortable around her in the spring term as he had been during the first half of the year. Hermione felt like an obsessive stalker with the way she tracked his movements, trying to find an opportunity to speak with him alone.

She was waiting for the perfect moment, but in the end, she took the first chance she got.

It was a Saturday a few weeks into February when she stumbled upon Draco walking back from the library. He had an apple in one hand and a book in the other. It must have been a good one, since he was too distracted to notice her.

Hermione quickened her step to catch up to him and before he could disappear, she tugged him into an empty classroom. Simultaneously disarming him and locking the door, Hermione crossed her arms and glared at him, her cheeks flushing in anger.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said.

“You just abducted me, Granger!”

“I wouldn’t have had to if you would just talk to me!”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” he sneered.

Hermione knew he was trying to get a rise out of her. He wanted her temper to get the best of her, so that she would storm out and release him in the process.

“I disagree. No good can come from ignoring it.”

“So what, you won’t let me leave until you’ve subjected me to an inane conversation?”

“Precisely, Malfoy. I’m glad to find you’re still as bright as ever.”

He rolled his eyes at her retort. “What if I refuse?”

“Then we’ll be here all night.”

“Fuck, you’re so damn stubborn.”

With a dramatic sigh, he slumped into one of the seats. She took the seat in front of him, twisting around to face him.

“You’re right. Unfortunately for you, it seems like you’re stuck with me.”

Draco muttered something under his breath.

“What was that?” she pressed.

Flashing her an unreadable look, several beats passed before Draco spoke again.

“I said, you’re the one who loses in this scenario. I’ll only tarnish your pristine reputation.”

“Don’t try and tell me you’ve kept me unaware as a favour,” she snapped.

“Why else would I? What good does it do me?” Draco barked back. “I only stand to gain from proximity to the Golden Girl.”

“Don’t call me that. I hate that title. It’s ridiculous—”

“My point is that I won’t stop searching for a way to break the bond.”

“I’ve already told you there is no way, Malfoy! Is being tied to a Mudblood really so disgusting to you that you’ve deluded yourself into rejecting reality?”

“Are you serious right now?” he yelled.

Draco stood with a jerk, a dark aura surrounding him as anger rolled off of him in waves.

She didn’t care, though. Hermione had faced far worse opponents than Draco, and she wouldn’t fall prey to his intimidation tactics.

“Have you not listened to anything I said since you trapped me in this room?” He began to pace, his fingers carding through his hair. “Did you not believe a word I wrote in my initial letter to you?”

In truth, Hermione didn’t know what to trust. She _wanted_ to believe that Draco had changed, that the horrible experiences he endured and witnessed might have finally gotten through his thick skull and shifted his thinking. Still, she witnessed firsthand what an egocentric, entitled little prick he was for six years. It made it hard to change her opinion of him in such a short time span. 

“I don’t care about your blood status, and I haven’t for a long time. I won’t say that I’ve harboured some secret crush on you, but I’ve known the magic that flows through you is as pure as mine,” he continued without pausing for a breath. “You’re the most powerful witch I’ve ever met, and that includes my crazy bitch of an aunt who did this to us. I helped you that day because I couldn’t risk you losing your brilliant mind. And because I owed you.”

Hermione sat frozen in stunned silence at his admission.

“You deserve better than a failed, former Death Eater. I don’t care how much time or money it takes to find a way to free you of me. I won’t stop searching. I didn’t think you would give up so easily, either, considering how you get when you set your mind to something.”

“I’ve hardly resigned myself to failure but even if the solution isn’t one either of us likes, it’s still valid. So, we have two options,” Hermione retorted. “We complete the bond, and ease our suffering, or we remain stubborn and live in misery. I know some people might think stubborn is my middle name—”

“It’s Jean,” he said offhandedly.

“Regardless, I can be— Wait, how did you know that?”

“I pay attention, Granger. I know I seem like little more than a devilishly handsome, obscenely wealthy, and incredibly humble aristocrat, but I wasn’t second in marks without merit.”

Despite herself, Hermione laughed, and warmth spread through her chest when Draco smirked in response.

It wasn't the cruel, derisive grin that he often wore when they were younger. It was warm and genuine, and softened the sharp planes of his face. She hated to admit it, but at that moment, he actually was very handsome.

Several seconds passed in silence and when Draco raised his brow in question, Hermione realised she had been staring. In her defence, they had never shared a single amicable exchange. While this particular conversation began tersely, it was practically polite given their history.

It caught her off-guard and forced her to consider him in a different light. 

Still, her cheeks heated once more at the realisation that he had noticed. While the old Draco might have savagely teased and mocked her for gaping at him, the new Draco merely watched her with a smug, pleased sort of look.

“As I was saying, I’m not one of your imbecile friends,” he continued. “We’ve known each other since we were eleven, Granger. I’m honestly offended that you think I _wouldn’t_ know things about you.”

“Things as in plural?”

“Yes, things as in plural.”

Another laugh escaped her. “There’s no way.”

“Your birthday is September 19th. You take your tea with a splash of milk and spoonful of honey, but during examinations you prefer coffee, black. You start every school year with a reread of _Hogwarts: A History,_ but your favourite book is _Pride and Prejudice._ Even if the wizarding world credits Saint Potter for winning the war, he and Weasel barely share a brain cell between the two of them and neither would have survived without you. Should I go on?”

“No, you’ve quite made your point,” she said with a smile. “How do you know all these things about me?”

“As I said, I pay attention.” Draco shrugged. “Potter might be my sworn enemy—”

Hermione snorted at his refusal to move past childhood rivalries.

“Yet, you were always the real competition. It was hard _not_ to notice things, given all the time I spent focused on trying to surpass you. At a certain point, I think it became a habit more than anything to see what Hogwarts’ resident swot was up to,” he continued.

“I never knew,” she said.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to.”

“And why is that? I’m observant!”

“Because you were extremely busy trying to keep those idiots alive, obviously. Merlin, Granger, not everything I say is an insult.”

“You’ll understand why that might take some getting used to,” Hermione countered.

“I deserve your mistrust and ire, I know I do.” His face fell. “But I did mean what I said about blood purity. I hope one day you’ll accept my apology.”

“I already did. Nearly immediately after I received it.” The words tumbled out without a second thought. “I was just too self-righteous to say it.”

“Perhaps we should try for more open communication,” he said.

“Let’s start with you not actively avoiding me,” she said. “I don’t know much about marriage, but I can’t imagine that’s healthy behaviour to employ with your spouse.”

“Are we really doing this, then?” Draco asked.

“We don’t have any other choice.”

###  _February 14, 2000_

Strong, steady fingers curled around her hip and gave Hermione all the courage she needed as she stepped through the fireplace and into the Greengrass’ manor. Draco shifted his hand to rest at the small of her back and together they moved towards the sounds of the gala.

“I was expecting more red and pink, at least some heart motifs,” Hermione whispered so that only Draco could hear. “Why else would they have the party on Valentine’s Day?”

“It’s hard to explain, but you’ll see once you meet Astoria. She’s a sweet girl, but a silly little thing. She probably thought it was cute, or something along those lines. I can’t complain, though. A black and white mandatory dress code suits me. Can you imagine if my robes were red?”

Draco visibly shuddered, as if there was no worse atrocity than wearing a colour that might clash with his skin tone. 

“That’s hardly any way to talk about the witch who was very nearly your wife.”

“Thank Merlin she’s not. While I only wish her happiness, it’s for the best.”

“You don’t mean that.” Hermione laughed. “She’s absolutely gorgeous.”

They had just entered the ballroom and immediately her gaze was drawn to the witch in question.

Astoria stood at the end of a receiving line, looking resplendent in a pristine set of snowy white robes. The enchanted fabric sparkled from across the room, as if it were adorned with thousands of tiny diamonds. All around them, witches filled the room swathed in their finest garments and gems.

Suddenly, Hermione seemed woefully underdressed in her simple ivory gown. Though she appreciated its understated elegance, Hermione felt a small surge of gratitude that she had at least taken Narcissa’s advice on the jewellery.

“I won’t deny that she’s pretty, but looks aren’t everything,” Draco murmured. “Besides, I have it on good authority that my wife is the most stunning witch in the room.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at his overt flattery, and turned her attention back towards the couple of the night. Beside Astoria stood her fiancé, a man that Hermione knew well.

“I still can’t believe she and Neville are engaged,” she said.

“Neither can I, love. Did you ask my mother about it?”

“No, but she told me anyway. According to the gossip, Astoria was looking for the perfect plant to compliment her design plans when she took the lead on redecorating one of the estate’s sitting rooms. That’s how they met.”

“Well, good for them, I suppose. Though, when I think about it more, maybe it is a bit unfortunate after all...”

Inexplicably, Hermione’s stomach twisted in knots. “Oh?”

“Between the two of us, and now Astoria and Neville, it seems likely that there will be many occasions on which I have to play nice with your friends.”

“Gods, Malfoy, you’re incorrigible!” She swatted his arm playfully and laughed.

“It’s a real concern, witch. I don’t appreciate your mockery,” he said with faux seriousness. “It physically pains me to be cordial to Weasel, you know this.”

Hermione leaned into him and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“You’ve done a lovely job of it so far. You’ve had to spend time in the same room as him nearly every month in the past year, and you’ve only insulted him a handful of times. I’m very proud of you.”

“Maybe you should do a better job of showing it, then,” he grumbled.

Before she could retort, they reached the newly engaged couple and Hermione found herself hauled into a startling embrace.

“I’m delighted you could make it, it’s so nice to finally meet you!” Astoria said. “Nev has so many fun stories of your school years.”

“Hullo, Hermione,” her old friend offered.

“And Drakey! It’s lovely to see you again,” Astoria continued with a dainty giggle. “To think, this was supposed to have been you and I.” 

It didn’t seem the pretty, young witch realised how awkward the air around the four of them had become. Neville was looking at the ground, and Hermione felt as though she couldn’t breathe. How was one supposed to respond to that sort of comment? Hermione didn’t imagine that any extent of social breeding and training would have prepared her for it.

“Yes, to think, this might have been our party,” Draco echoed in his posh drawl, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Blessedly, fate had other plans in store.”

“Malfoy!” Hermione exclaimed. “Don’t be rude!”

“Oh, he doesn’t mean to offend. Draco is all bark and no bite,” Astoria said with a titter.

Draco arched a single brow. “On the contrary, I definitely meant—”

“Thank you for inviting us, and congratulations to you both,” Hermione interjected.

Sliding her fingers through his, Hermione turned and tugged her husband towards the party before the situation could become any more intolerable.

They had already lingered with the other couple long enough, and it was time to make the rounds through the rest of the crowd. There would be many more opportunities as the night stretched on for Hermione to be disparaged and insulted.

At least with Astoria, Hermione knew that there weren’t any bad intentions.

“Please don’t be upset, Granger. Astoria didn’t mean to disrespect you,” Draco said, as if he read her mind. “She’s just a bit vapid, and preoccupied with herself. She’s been that way since we were young.”

“It’s fine.” Hermione turned to look at him and offered a small smile. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, I know what that means. You can’t fool me. Shall I march back over there and demand that she apologise?”

“Sweet Circe, no. All I want right now is to get a drink and make it through this night as unscathed as possible.”

“I’m not leaving your side, I swear. And if any of these stuffy, old, pureblood witches has anything to say about you, they can go through me.”

She chortled at the imagery. “Would you really duel an old lady to defend my honour?”

“I would do anything for you, Granger.” Draco tugged her to him and folded his arms around her waist. “Since our souls are bound, any insult to you is an insult to me.”

“Ah, that makes more sense. It’s all self-serving in the end.”

“You wound me. I think of your comfort and well-being above all else.”

“Hmm, maybe _now_ you do,” she countered teasingly.

Grabbing two flutes of champagne from a floating tray, Draco handed one to her and guided her towards the doors that led to the balcony. Hermione was pleased to find that they were the only occupants. His hand was at the slope of her back once more, and a comforting warmth radiated through the soft fabric of her dress. 

The cacophony of the party faded as she settled against the railing, her eyes drifting across the manicured lawn and multitudes of methodically planted flowers and shrubbery. Draco stood to her side, facing her and tracing a finger up her arm. 

“Hermione, I’m—”

“Don’t you dare apologise again.”

She flashed him a warning look.

“But—” he protested.

“No buts, Malfoy. I’ve already forgiven you. I was only kidding before.”

Draco sighed. “You’re too good for me.”

“Hardly,” Hermione said with a laugh.

“Yes, you are,” he insisted.

“Am not.”

“Agree to disagree.”

She turned to face him, and closed the distance between them.

“Nope, and we’ll be arguing about this until we’re old and grey.”

Tilting her head back, Hermione balanced on the balls of her feet and pressed her mouth first to his jaw, then the corner of his mouth, before finally kissing him softly.

“Gods, do you really think we’ll make it that long? All we do is fuck and fight,” Draco whispered against her lips. “Sometimes I’m not entirely sure how I managed to convince you to marry me.”

“Your aunt certainly did her part in taking away much choice in the matter...”

“It’s too bad she’s dead, or I’d send her a bouquet in thanks.”

Hermione draped her arms over his shoulders and pressed herself to him, burying her face in his neck as his hands settled on her waist to steady her.

“Maybe it’s a bit inappropriate or insensitive to think it, but I’m glad she’s not around.”

“Thank Merlin you said it, because honestly, I’m glad, too,” Draco added quickly. “I wouldn’t actually send her flowers. I’d probably have to kill her before she could attack you.”

“How about no duelling or killing anyone on my behalf?” 

“If you insist, I expect that can be arranged,” he sighed dejectedly. “After all, who am I to deny my wife?”

“I’m glad you said so, because your wife would like to dance, if you’re so inclined.”

“Oh, have you seen her then? I’ve been looking for the slippery little minx all night, I hope I haven’t given you the impression that I’m available—”

“Shut up, Malfoy, and dance with me,” she said.

“You know, my younger self would have never believed it, but I find I rather like being bossed around by Hermione Granger.”

“It’s Hermione Malfoy, now.”

“Keep the dirty talk to the bedroom, love, or I’ll be forced to find a bathroom in which to defile you,” he growled, tightening his hold on her.

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea—”

“Don’t you dare finish that thought, you little tease.” Draco released a tortured groan. “I swear, it’s like you’re on a mission to discover all the inappropriate places in which you can seduce me.”

“You were hardly complaining yesterday when we christened the desk in your office.”

“Of course, I wasn’t! At the end of the day, I’m little more than a bloke, and it would be completely idiotic of me to deny my pretty witch when she offers to go down on me.”

“Mm. Maybe you could return the favour, then, if we happen to slip away from the party.”

Capturing his lips a final time, Hermione dipped her tongue into his mouth to taste him. Before Draco had time to adequately respond, she twisted away and led the way back into the ballroom.

Years of dance classes as a child made her a graceful partner on the dance floor, and for that Hermione was grateful. She may never fit the mould of a pureblood wife, nor did she want to. Yet, she was still happy that she was able to keep up with Draco as they spun round and round.

It, or rather _they_ , felt right, and Hermione smiled up at him as they moved through the familiar steps.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed before an older wizard interrupted them, asking if Draco might allow the other man to step in and dance with her. Hermione was sure that the stranger only wanted to be seen with her because of her status as a celebrity. As her mind scrambled to find a way out of the situation, Draco flashed the other man a charming smile.

“I understand the allure of dancing with the famed Hermione Granger. She’s a brilliant and beautiful war hero, one-third of the Golden Trio – _the only useful member of the lot if you ask me_ ,” he muttered under his breath before continuing. “However, I can’t bear to part from my wife. We’re newlyweds, you see, and any time we’re separated it feels as if my heart has been torn from my chest.”

Placated, the man left them alone, and it was all Hermione could do to keep herself from laughing at Draco’s suave solution to the problem.

“The pain of being apart won’t persist now that we’re married,” she said softly.

“How do you _know_ , Granger? We haven’t had any sustained periods of distance since that fateful day you assaulted and abducted me.”

That much was true. The conversation they shared in the abandoned classroom resulted in a mutual decision to at least try and be friends. It was a starting point. If they could manage friendship, then it boded well for the marriage that would be forced upon them.

They began to study together regularly and by the end of their Eighth Year, they were practically inseparable. In the process of spending time with Draco, Hermione discovered that the physical ailments that plagued her only abated when he was near.

So, when he offered to find a flat for them to live in after graduation, she readily agreed. The friendship was decidedly a success, with the added bonus of frequent sex. It made sense.

Then, once they married and completed the bond, there was no reason to be apart. So, _really_ , she didn’t know for certain. However, in theory, the spell Bellatrix cast on them would no longer cause prolonged affliction. Hermione expected him to tease her for the continued silence and delay in response, but when she glanced up, she found him watching her pensively.

“I’d rather not risk it,” Draco said.

“I’d rather not, either,” she agreed.

Several more moments passed before he spoke again.

“I won’t delude myself into thinking that I’m the one you would have chosen, if you had the option. But, I’m forever thankful for the chance you’ve given me—”

“Draco,” she whispered, unable to stay quiet.

“Please, let me finish,” he pleaded.

The relief was visible on this face when she nodded in agreement.

“The circumstances of our marriage weren’t ideal, but I’ve never been happier than this past year I’ve spent with you. I love you, Hermione. I can hardly remember what life was like before you, and I absolutely cannot imagine a future with anyone but you.”

Without any regard to the audience surrounding them, Hermione pulled his face to hers and kissed him deeply.

“I like to think I would have chosen you, even without the curse.”

“You can’t possibly mean that.”

Hermione could tell he wanted to believe her.

“I do, though. I mean, I can’t say that it would have happened as quickly as it did. We might have wasted time with other people. Or, we might have resisted the pull that’s always existed between us. But, I wonder – _Gods, this sounds so ridiculous_ – if maybe our paths were always meant to intertwine?”

“I thought you didn’t believe in things like destiny and Divination,” Draco teased.

“I’m allowed to have a change in opinions, it’s called character growth. You don’t have to be an arse about it.” She glared at him, but it lacked any heat. “I’m trying to say I love you, too, even though your ego is enormous and you’re frighteningly obsessed with your hair.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, darling.”

“Your inability to understand when I’m criticising you is a bit worrying.”

“How about we go look for a bathroom, or maybe a vacant sitting room, and you can tell me all about my faults while I lick your sweet little cunt until you’re screaming my name—”

“Draco!” Hermione gasped.

“That’s the idea, love.”

The bastard had the audacity to waggle his eyebrows.

“You are the absolute worst,” she said with a laugh. “Come on, then.”

It seemed a search for a bathroom was in order.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sweetestsorrows), [Tumblr](https://sweetestsorrows.tumblr.com/), and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/sweetest_sorrows/).


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